


A Little More

by eratospen



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games)
Genre: Belly Kink, F/F, Stuffing, Weight Gain
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-17
Updated: 2017-12-31
Packaged: 2018-12-31 00:57:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 10,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12121074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eratospen/pseuds/eratospen
Summary: For a kink meme prompt asking for Josephine gaining a large amount of weight while working with the Inquisition. Written as a loving but kinky-as-hell relationship with female Adaar.Warning: This is a Dragon Age female weight gain / belly kink story. If that doesn't sound like your thing...it probably isn't.





	1. Chapter 1

“You would like me to order you…what was it, exactly?”

Herah leaned against the back of Josephine’s chair, hiding a smile at the adorable crease between the other woman’s brows. “ _Deelak_. It’s a qunari delicacy.” She paused, then added more honestly, “Well, no, actually. It’s a simple treat meant for children and old women. But in my house, it was always a delicacy. My mother used to bribe me to do my chores with extra deelak after dinner. I’ve been having a craving for months.”

“You do have a taste for sweets,” Josephine said, already adding it to her ever-growing list of requisitions. That was the best part about being the Inquisitor—no one ever questioned her whims.

“Two _e’s_ ,” Herah corrected with a slowly spreading smile. “And you are one to talk, Ambassador. Don’t pretend I haven’t noticed you adding an extra box or two of Orlesian chocolates to our orders.”

Josephine had the grace to blush. “Ah. So you did notice. I had hoped if I were discrete enough…” She sighed, making a neat mark beside the deelak: two _cases_.

Herah’s brows arched subtly, but she didn’t comment on that. Instead, she straightened to her full height, keeping her smile warm. “I notice a lot of things,” she said. “But don’t stop on my account. You work too hard; you could use a chance to treat yourself now and again.”

“If you notice so much,” Josephine pointed out, “then you can’t have missed that I have been treating myself far too often of late.” She dropped shy a hand to her stomach, which, yes, Herah _had_ noticed was getting a bit softer over the past few months. It wasn’t much—but on top of Josephine’s already-generous curves, the extra weight was more than enough to tug at the seams of her elegant dresses. The folds of her sash hid the worst of it, but all that satin couldn’t quite disguise the subtle push of a little potbelly that hadn’t been there before.

Frankly, it was adorable. And hot. But humans were weird about those sorts of things, so Herah just said: “I don’t mind.” And before she could think better of it, “Though you could still do with a little more.”

Josephine startled, half-turning in her chair to look up at her, the loose tendrils of hair brushing her cheeks. She looked…startled? Scandalized? Intrigued? Hard to tell. “I…beg your pardon?”

Maybe she shouldn’t have said that. She’d been careful to keep her growing attraction to the (growing) ambassador under wraps, knowing she could be a little too much for even the toughest hearts to handle. But she also hated lying, and keeping her leers to herself was beginning to feel like the worst kind of falsehood.

_Play it off or brazen it out?_ Herah sighed, then gave a single-shoulder shrug. At least she was tall enough that Josephine would have to climb up onto her desk if she wanted to slap her across the face for the come-on. The amusement of that would be balm enough for any bit of stung pride.

Besides—the ambassador _had_ said she wanted Herah to feel comfortable being herself around her, hadn’t she? No time like the present to test that out.

“You could still do with a little more,” Herah repeated.

“More what exactly?” Josephine rose, though she didn’t make a move toward the desk. That had to be a good sign.

Herah tilted her hip, lounging against the tall back of Josephine’s chair again. She let her gaze flick down the other woman’s body, and this time, she didn’t hide the flare of appreciation. “A little more everything,” she purred. “More treating yourself. More relaxing. More curves. A lot more of those, actually.”

Josephine flushed.

“Not that I don’t appreciate the ones you have,” Herah added. “But I have to say…the extra suits you. I certainly wouldn’t mind if you wanted to add to your charms. In fact, I can’t imagine how you’d be anything other than _stunning_ if you did.” She reached out, daring much, and flicked at that little dark curl with the tip of her gold-painted claw. Then she straightened. “So if that’s all you need me for?”

The ambassador didn’t seem to know what to say to that. She stuttered, cheeks bright red, fumbling over her words as Herah threw caution to the wind and cast her a little wink. “Don’t worry,” Herah said, pulling back and beginning to sashay away. She put an extra swing into her hips, just in case. “You don’t have to say anything. If I see that dress getting any tighter, I’ll know my answer.”

She could have sworn she heard Josephine squeak in response.


	2. Chapter 2

Over the next few weeks, Herah watched Josephine like a hawk when no one else was looking. Those times they were thrust together—at the War Table, over reports, at dinner—she was as friendly and relaxed as ever, not wanting to push the other woman, and Josephine treated her with the usual charming professionalism. But when she knew she wasn’t being observed…

Well, it was only natural she be anxious to see whether Josephine took her up on her rather aggressive offer, wasn’t it?

But of course, a watched pot never boiled, and a watched _pot_ never grew. It was with a sad heart that Herah left for the Emerald Graves on what proved to be an obnoxiously long hike through the overgrown forest, with not a single sign that Josephine was tempted to take her up on her flirtation.

Ah, well. She’d known it was a long shot, after all. Humans _were_ strange about these sorts of things—dieting themselves down when their bodies seemed absolutely primed to be wonderfully round. Herah spent the trek through the Graves imagining what it would be like if Josephine 1) found her attractive (which wasn’t a given, considering how many felt about qunari—their loss, of course); and 2) let herself give in to the little glutton Herah could sense in her.

She was _so_ good at sniffing them out, too. Before she had a glowing green hand, that was her particular superpower. Finding the girls whose bodies yearned to be plump. Teasing them gently into accepting that, loving that, embracing that and growing into ripe young women with soft tits and even softer bellies and—

“Watch yourself, Inquisitor!” Dorian called as a shade very nearly cut Herah’s own rock-hard stomach into ribbons. She sighed and forced her thoughts away from such pleasant things, cleaving it in two with a single swing.

Best keep her head in the game, she supposed.

She was in a foul mood when, a good two _months_ later, they marched back into Skyhold. She’d had to keep on high alert more than she would have liked, and eventually all thoughts of Josephine had faded to the back of her mind. Now she was too exhausted to think of the ambassador as she limped up behind her horse, sore and dirty and cranky.

“I’ll give you your fucking report later,” she snapped at Cullen, who simply blinked at her in amusement and murmured, “It is good to see you as well, Inquisitor.”

Herah waved back at him, ignoring Dorian, Varric and Bull as they each went off to find their own creature comforts. She was too focused on climbing the steps to the keep (and eventually to her own room with its bed and fireplace and _bath_ , thank the Maker) to notice or care where they fucked off to. But then she lifted her head and spotted Josephine and Leliana waiting for her at the very top of the steps.

She very nearly swallowed her tongue. She _did_ miss a step, stumbling down to a knee.

There was a deep, rumbling laugh from behind her, Bull catching her arm and hauling her back up. “Careful there, boss,” he said, sounding smug as anything, the bastard. “Don’t want your girl to worry now, do you?”

“My—I don’t know what you mean,” Herah lied, shooting him a quick glance before looking up the winding steps. Josephine and Leliana were talking to each other as they waited, half-turned together. Leliana was knife-thin and familiar as always, her features shadowed by the purple cowl. But Josephine…

Her throat went dry as she looked the other woman up and down.

Josephine had _changed_. She had really, really changed.

“Takes a lot of eating to put on that much that fast,” Bull said, deliberately close to Herah’s ear. “Must’ve had a real good reason to fatten herself up like an eager dathrasi: just mindlessly grazing all da—”

He grunted, still laughing, at her hard elbow to his solar plexus. And yet, Herah couldn’t exactly disagree. She couldn’t put a number on it, but Josephine had gained a visibly significant amount of weight in the time they’d been away. She was verging on being downright plump now, hips flaring wide against the new dress, bosom noticeably larger, little pot belly softened until it threatened to not be so _little_ anymore. A tiny fold of fat toyed just beneath her chin, flashing there and gone again as she spoke, and the pale blue material clung to what could almost be called a roll at her sides. It would certainly be enough to hold onto and squeeze; her thighs, hidden by the skirt, just had to be round and lush.

She looked radiant: plump and soft and sweet and _blushing_ as she glanced over and noticed Herah standing there near the base of the steps, staring.

Josephine instinctively dropped her arms, hands fluttering shyly over the swell of her belly, then up to her face, then to her hips, as if she wasn’t sure whether she wanted to hide or highlight her gain. Beside her, Leliana snorted.

Bull chuckled.

Herah sighed with perfect happiness and practically floated up the rest of the steps, eyes locked on her plumpening girl (because this had to be in answer to her come-on, right? This _had_ to be Josephine’s way of saying yes) and weariness all but melted away.

“Josephine,” she said, voice huskier than usual. She wet her lips, thrilling at the way those dark eyes dropped to her mouth. “It is good to see you looking so beautiful.”

“Oh, well,” Josephine said, hands still fluttering. If possible, she looked even softer this close up, and it had to have been a good twenty-five extra pounds on her. Bull was right: to gain that much over so little time, she had to have been stuffing her face constantly. Eager to show Herah how interested she was by the time she returned? Herah wanted to drop down to her knees and discover each new pound with her tongue. Or was that too much, too soon? “I…thank you, but I’m afraid I may have…let myself go lately?”

Josephine tilted her head, watching Herah’s face closely—waiting for a cue.

Herah just grinned. “Oh, I don’t know,” she said, a deliberate purr in her words. Leliana, bless her canny heart, slunk away without a word, leaving them alone. “I can’t help but think you could still do with a little more.”

“ _More_?” Josephine managed, flushed bright. She didn’t resist when Herah reached out to take her hand—or when Herah dropped her other hand to the curve of her waist. The softness was even more obvious to the touch, a layer of fat covering the ambassador’s body, rounding out her hips into an exaggerated curve. She was born to have an hourglass, but Herah knew _ways_ to make sure that little potbelly of hers didn’t go unchanged. She wondered if Josephine was be willing to learn.

“Mmhmm,” Herah purred, sliding her hand down the rounded curve of her, all the way to her rump. Ah, yes: bigger here, too. She had to be spilling out of her silky panties. Herah _desperately_ hoped all this meant she was allowed to see. “You look incredible now, and you’d look incredible with _more_. May I kiss you?”

Josephine shook her head, but it wasn’t in denial. In fact, she was trembling there against Herah, staring up at her with wide dark eyes: trapped in her thrall. Those soft lips were parted and if Herah pressed in any closer, she’d be able to feel the heavy press of her breasts. She bet they would be more than a handful, especially if Josephine kept eating the way she’d obviously been to gain _this_ much. What a wonderful thought.

Herah smiled. “I won’t do it unless you agree,” she said, gently.

Josephine’s cheeks were a brilliant pink. “You don’t think I am too…round?” she said, but her arms were slowly going around Herah’s neck and she was pressing close—soft and giving and just plump enough to be a real tease.

_Go slow and gentle with this one_ , Herah scolded herself, looking down at the other woman seriously, both arms around her waist. “Josie,” she said, loving the way Josephine flushed deeper at the growl in her voice, “believe me when I say there’s no such thing.”

Josephine wet her lips. “You may kiss me,” she said with perfect formality—then gasped when Herah swooped in to steal her mouth, tongue already stroking past the perfect sweetness of her lips, hungrily feeding on those candy-covered moans.

Even better? Her fucking leg popped up in response, like they were in one of Varric’s lurid tales. Herah grinned into the kiss and grabbed a handful of lush rear and kissed _her girl_ like her life depended on it.


	3. Chapter 3

“Oof,” Josephine said, falling back against the chair with a politely muffled burp. Her dress creaked in protest, clinging to each hill and fold of her body like a second skin. “That is it. You have officially fed me _far_ too much.”

Herah, sitting at her side with a chin propped on her fist, could only grin. “That is not possible,” she said. She reached out to rub a palm over the hard dome of her girl’s belly, loving the way Josephine melted into the caress. Loving even more the way she seemed pinned back under the weight of her own gluttony.

They’d taken to eating every meal together— _in private_ , because that was the only way to get the Antivan to drop her polite mask and really give in to the dathrasi that lived inside her. Out with the others, she was every inch the respectable ambassador. Alone…

It still amazed Herah exactly how debauched Josephine was willing to become.

Like now, stuffed to the breaking point with more food than a _qunari_ ate in a day, most of it sweets. Her dark eyes were glazed with it, hair half falling out of its usual neat bun. That hint of a double chin that had teased Herah all through the earliest part of their relationship was now firmly here to stay, rounding out subtly, especially when her head was down. Her cheeks were rounder, her shoulders a bit more sloped, her arms beginning to slope.

But it was the rest of her that was truly amazing.

Herah slid her hand over the widest part of Josephine, rubbing soothing circles against the packed-full gut. Josephine’s body naturally tended toward weight in her hips and bust, and Maker but she had gained wonderfully there. Her breasts were getting _big_ , sagging subtly with their increased weight and straining every bodice she had. Her hips seemed wider every time Herah looked at her, brushing up against tables and knocking things over when Josephine wasn’t paying attention, rounding out into an arse that was truly more than a double handful. Those silken smallclothes Herah liked to imagine in the first weeks of their relationship _barely_ held together over her increased width now—new, larger sizes were on their way in the next shipment, and Herah could hardly wait to watch as Josephine outgrew them.

But her tummy…that was Herah’s true joy, because while Josephine’s body had eagerly plumped up her breasts and hips and arse, the rest was all Herah’s doing, and it was glorious.

“Look at you,” she cooed, dropping her other hand to Josephine’s stomach and rubbing. The dress strained and creaked over the roundest part of her, pulled so tight it had to be painful. Her belly rose up in a round ball, deep gash of a belly button visible against the too-tight fabric. It was hard to the touch, packed full, utterly debased. A pregnancy with no child, and it made Herah grin to press her ear against the high dome and listen to it gurgle in protest. “You are so _round_.”

“I am so _fat_ ,” Josephine sighed. She dropped a hand down to Herah’s skull, fingertips sliding over the gold-tipped horns before moving into her white hair. She shifted, plump thighs spreading, making room for her belly. “This is the last dress I have that fits me. Soon I won’t be able to squeeze in to even it. This is all your fault, you realize.”

Herah hummed and mouthed at Josephine’s tight belly, then around to her soft sides. The little fold of fat had grown into a near-handful, spilling into a wonderfully thick roll. A second was threatening to grow, and Herah couldn’t wait until it could fill her grasping hands too. The promise of it was exciting. “This is all my fault,” she agreed, biting at one of those rolls. Josephine let out a stuttery sigh, arching instinctively into the caress—her belly rising up with the movement. “I have made you so fat.”

“Too fat?” Josephine asked, even though she had to know the answer by now.

Snorting, Herah straightened, and deliberately reached for a dripping honey tart. It was one of the last remaining treats, and the sight of it in Herah’s fingers made Josephine moan in protest, one hand covering the crest of her bloated gut, where she strained and strained against her demure dress.

“Wait,” Josephine protested, pinned back by her own over-stuffed belly, even as she licked her bottom lip in preparation. What a sweet little hedonist she was turning out to be. “I am so full I will burst if you give me more.”

“But you asked me a question, my little dathrasi,” Herah said, lifting the treat so it could press against the slick curve of Josephine’s lower lip. She let the honey drip across her skin—dribble down her chin—pool against where her breasts strained her bodice. Good. Wonderful. All the more excuse to lick across the protesting material and tongue tightening nipples through wet cloth. “You know I have to answer.”

Josephine moaned again, cupping her own belly, looking truly stuffed and round and, yes, _fat_. But she opened her mouth obediently and let Herah plop the treat past the even white of her teeth. She bit and she chewed and she swallowed, tongue darting out to catch the dribble of honey as if she truly couldn’t have enough.

My, how that dress cried out with each movement.

Hearing that, Josephine tilted her head. She looked at Herah with dazed eyes, breaths coming in quick little pants, nearly coming apart at the seams. And, because she really _was_ a hedonist at heart: “So you did not answer,” Josephine said—taunted, really. She spread her thighs wider and rubbed her palms over her own inflated gut, looking for all the world like a plump mother soothing her unborn child. Teasing Herah with just how massive she looked right now. “Do you think I have become too fat? I _feel_ too fat.”

Herah gave a mock-growl. “I will _show_ you,” she said, grabbing for a miraculously full plate. She reached out to catch Josephine’s chin, “forcing” her mouth open (knowing from the subtle nod just how much Josephine wanted it) and pushing one of the chocolates past her lips. Followed by another, another, barely giving her time to chew.

It was obscene, the way Josephine’s cheeks rounded out with food as she frantically worked to swallow, pretending to struggle. She gasped in a breath, shifting, arching, already opening up for more even though she was packed full. Herah popped another chocolate in, clawtips of her free hand scraping along the heaving flank of her. Maker, but Josie was getting big—and _bigger_ with each bite, practically daring Herah to keep feeding her when she was well past any reasonable limit, the dress seams groaning in warning, her body straining forward, her eyes going to half-mast as she took more and more and more until suddenly—

_Riiiip_.

Josephine and Herah gasped at the same moment, staring as Josephine’s dress _finally_ tore along the seam, freeing her belly. It surged forward, bigger and rounder than before, utterly gorgeous. Her heavy tits pushed free as the bodice loosened, and Josephine had to moan as her soft thighs were forced to spread even more to make room, all of her seeming to expand like rising dough before Herah’s eyes, as if she were actually getting _fatter_ as she watched.

The thought was enough to make her dizzy.

Josephine slumped back, fingers toying over the rip of her dress and the fold of flesh made visible. She was flushed and panting, wrecked. Nothing at all like the prim ambassador Herah had met so long enough. “Look at what you made me do,” she said on a purr of her own. “This is my last decent dress. I will have nothing to wear tomorrow.”

“Then you will wear nothing tomorrow,” Herah said, cupping one of those big, soft breasts and giving it a squeeze. The nipple tightened beneath the swipe of her thumb. “And I will worship every inch of you.”

“Every fat inch,” Josephine countered.

Herah smiled. “Every fat inch.”

Josephine rubbed thoughtfully at her own belly, too stuffed to move, too contented to complain. Then again, with the beginning of a smile: “You really don’t think I’ve become too fat, then?”

“My little dathrasi,” Herah said, leaning in to press her lips to the widest part of her. “You could still do with a little more.”


	4. Chapter 4

“Oh,” Josephine gasped, then gave a soft, dissatisfied grunt, fingers curling around the bedpost. She dropped a hand down to the flaring curve of her hip, testing its shape. “No, this will not do at all. It’s not near tight enough.”

Herah stepped back to study her girl. Dressed in demure white stockings (with delicate lace tops and ribbons keeping them from rolling down her deliciously dimpled thighs) blue satin smallclothes straining over a perfect round rump and heavy tits all but spilling out of the low cut of a snow-white corset, Josephine looked transcendent. An angel sent from Andraste herself, black curls cascading down from an elaborate half-coif, eyes ringed in something dark and beautifully smokey.

She couldn’t have been more beautiful—more perfect—if she’d tried.

“I don’t know, sweetheart,” Herah purred, reaching out to carefully drag a clawtip down the straining curve of that corset. It hugged her soft sides, sloping in at the waist before exploding out into the wide hips Herah could never keep her hands off of. “It looks pretty tight to me.”

Josephine glanced over her shoulder. “If I can breathe,” she pointed out, “then it is not tight enough. You will have to try again—and this time, ignore me if I cry out.”

Herah frowned. “Why are we doing this?” she said, even as she dutifully moved back in. Josephine swept tumbling dark hair out of the way, exposing her wide, soft back to Herah. True, the ends of the corset did buckle and gape where Herah hadn’t been able to bring herself to cinch her lover tight enough to hurt, but in her mind, that just underscored the delicious _heft_ of Josie’s body. She was getting undeniably big now, rolls of fat held prisoner by the corset, beautifully soft tummy flattened cruelly. “You would look just as beautiful draped in flowing silk.”

“I would look like a little pig,” Josephine countered, “and every woman here tonight would mock me behind their fans.”

Herah lightly grasped those wide hips, flattening her palms to slide them down to cup the swell of her belly—impossible to hide, even in the most expensive of corsets—and them up to where her breasts strained to escape the line of her bodice. She was squeezed so tight in that thing that every bit of her flowed through the gaping laces as if making a bid for escape. “Every woman there,” Herah murmured, pressing her lips against the flutter of Josephine’s pulse, “will see you on my arm and be struck dumb by your beauty.”

“They will be struck dumb,” Josephine countered tartly, “but how I’ve doubled in size since they saw me last.”

_You haven’t doubled yourself…yet_ , Herah thought, but wisdom was the better part of valor, and she kept her mouth firmly shut. It wasn’t often Josephine was self-conscious about her changing body, but Herah considered it her duty to see her lover through those rare moments of doubt. The ambassador had been beautiful when she was thinner, and she would be beautiful when she was larger, but most importantly, she was beautiful _now_ —at whatever size and shape she chose to remain.

And if she chose to remain _this size_ or even smaller, Herah would spend the rest of her days making certain Josie never doubted she was everything she could have wanted, and more.

“You take my breath away, Josie,” she murmured against her skin, peppering soft kissed down the slope of her shoulder. “Have I told you that recently?”

Josephine gave a faint shake of her head, though not in answer to her question. “Maybe I should not go,” she said, mostly to herself. “Tonight’s important, and I don’t want to distract from the cause by making a spectacle of myself.”

“You are not—” Herah began hotly, but Josephine cut her off, looking over her shoulder to glare her down.

“I have been acting the pig for nearly a year, and I’ve grown too _fat_ for any of the Orlesian fashions. Even a matron’s gown is too small, and when they see me bursting out of my clothes on the _Inquisitor’s_ arm, they will… They will think I am…”

She trailed off, eyes squeezing shut. The silence, for a moment, was absolute.

Then, fingertips brushing down the line of her spine, Herah said: “Josie. Let me get you out of this damned thing.”

Josephine let out a sigh, still wound up, but she allowed herself to relax back with a faint nod. Herah caught a finger in one of those tight laces, gradually loosening it. The curve of her hourglass grew and grew with each tug, flesh freed from its prison—pushing out into Josephine’s perfect shape as the corset relaxed its grip.

It was like watching her fattening up by some spell, and oh, _that_ would be a lovely thing to play with later, when Josephine was less on edge. Now, however, Herah carefully gripped her girl’s wide hips and spun her around in her arms, nudging Josie back a step until she was leaning against the poster bed.

Her cheeks were flushed a gorgeous pink and eyes were locked down on the swell of her belly where it now pushed the front of the corset forward into a ripe hill. Her breasts no longer struggled to fall free, hanging big and lush instead where the very top of the corset gaped wide.

Too many deep breaths and Josephine’s body could swell free of the terrible thing altogether, forcing the loosened laces to spread wide, all of her naked and soft and exposed to the chilly night air. Dressed in nothing but piled-up hair and pale blue panties and those thigh-highs cinched tight with ribbon, forcing subtle folds to flow above and below.

Herah wet her lips, staring down at all that bounty laid out for her, then back up to Josephine’s face. She reached up to take her softly doubled chin between her fingers, urging Josephine to meet her eyes.

“Tell me, Josie,” she said, voice husky. “Do I strike you as the sort who enjoys a lie?”

Josephine blinked. “No,” she said slowly. “You are sometimes annoyingly forthright. It would do the Inquisition better at times if you could curb your opinions and…” She trailed off, then gave a soft laugh. Her expression softened. “And that is not what you meant.”

“So I am one who speaks the truth?” Herah pressed, a single white brow raising.

Josephine sighed again and spread her hands wide. “You speak the truth, no matter the consequences,” she agreed.

“Then what makes you think I am lying when I say you are the most beautiful, the most desirable, the most perfect woman who has ever walked this world?” Herah pressed.

Even though Josephine had seen this coming, her cheeks pinked again—darker this time. She wet her bottom lip. “You are the only one who sees me that way,” she said quietly. “To everyone else, I am just…fat.”

“I’m the Herald of Andraste, love,” Herah reminded her. “I speak for the most holy bride of the Maker, and _I_ say you are utter perfection. Every last roll and curve of you.”

Josephine gave a breathless laugh, looking away—only to yelp in surprise when Herah dropped to her knees in front of her. “What are you doing?” she gasped.

Herah framed Josie’s hips with her hands. From this angle, she truly did look big—Herah could see the bottom swell of her belly pushing out over the waist of her silky smalls, no longer hidden by the corset. It was a soft hill determined to become a mountain, pushing up and out even when she’d spent the past few days all but starving herself for this moment.

She leaned forward, brushing her tongue across the plush roundness, teasing along the crease of her tummy as Josephine gave a startled moan and grasped back for the poster bed. Her deep breath made the corset gape more, releasing even more soft flesh, making her _grow_ before Herah’s worshipful gaze.

“Herah,” Josephine breathed, free hand sliding down to sink into her hair. “We…we will be late.”

“I will be quick,” Herah promised, though she intended to be no such thing. She’d take all the time she needed to lick and suck and bite her way across her little dathrasi’s body until every inch of her was quivering. She reached up, dragging her clawtips down the bridge of delicate silk covering Josephine’s private folds, and her smile grew wide and wicked at her lover’s soft gasp…and the slowly growing wet patch that proved just how eagerly the ambassador responded to her even now.

“Promise me you will let me rip that damn thing from you,” Herah purred, nipping at the roundness of her belly, sucking delicate marks against her skin where no one could see. “Promise me you will let me drape you in flowing silks and parade you around and lavish you with pretty things to eat and drink.”

“Oh,” Josephine gasped, hips squirming. She let her head fall back, panting hard. The corset fell even wider—open enough that her breasts could tumble free, heavy and just begging for biting kisses.

Herah pushed the corset up the rounded hill of Josephine’s gut and flicked her tongue into the exposed belly button, clawtips still scraping back and forth across that growing damp spot. Riding out the helpless writhe of her hips. “Promise me you’ll trust that I find you _beautiful_ like this—big and round and soft and _mine_. All of this,” she curved her free hand around the back of a dimpled thigh and held on tight, “is _mine_. I made this with you. My,” nip, “perfect,” nip, “dathrasi.” Nip. “And if I had my way, there would be even _more_.”

Josephine’s legs were trembling, shaking so hard it was a wonder she was still standing. This close, Herah could smell the sweetness of her excitement; her nipples were tight and she was pulling fitfully at the hanging remainder of her corset, tugging it free, exposing every rolling hill and swell of her fat body to Herah’s lavishing tongue.

She sucked the soft overhang of the ambassador’s quivering gut, pressing her fingers up tight against soaked silk, and rode out the harsh buck of her girl’s broad hips. Tonight, she would sit Josephine next to her on that damn throne and spoil her like the goddess she was, until she grew heavy and ripe and round with her overindulgence. And anyone who dared titter or stare or say otherwise would feel the sharp side of the Inquisitor’s tongue.

She was the fucking _Herald of Andraste._ And if she said the standard for beauty in all of Thedas—even bloody Orlais—was set by the heft of her ever-growing lover’s lush body, then by the void, that was how it was going to be.


	5. Chapter 5

Hours later, deep into the evening—or were they early into the morning?—Josie lay sprawled back in hedonistic overindulgence, one hand curled around her all-but-empty wineglass, the other absently massaging her bloated gut.

She was drunk. They were both drunk. Hell, the entire _court_ was drunk, ladies tittering as they snuck lords off into darkened corners, fights blooming and dying, dancers staggering through familiar steps.

Herah looked over at her lover, shining on that dawnstone throne she’d _demanded_ they bring in for her. Josephine was glorious in swaths of golden silk, cleverly pinned by winking gemstones and clinging to every lush dip and roll of her. She was a glorious sight as she walked in on Herah’s arm—an ode to gluttony and pleasure, cheeks still flushed and eyes still bright from orgasm, delicate panties ripped free and tucked into Herah’s back pocket.

It made Herah grin against her fist to watch her now, knowing Josephine had spent the entire night still wet with her juices and Herah’s tongue, perfectly indecent without smalls. No breastband held the pendulous sway of her breasts. No corset tucked in her belly. Instead, each shimmering fall of gold highlighted just how wonderfully fat she was becoming—round arms bare, cleavage exposed, so richly decked out, so blatantly on display that no one dared say a word.

Even when Herah piled a plate high for her lover and fed her with her fingers. Even when Herah reached over and rubbed that slowly expanding gut, its bottom curve getting hard as Josephine ate and drank and ignored everyone so obviously beneath her.

_This is beauty_ , Herah thought with a curled upper lip, sneering down at the Orlesian women in their corsets and cinches. She reached over, covering Josephine’s hand as she massaged the heavy bulk of her stuffed belly, loving the way it subtly pushed her thighs apart as it rested in her lap. Mm, if the table were only a little higher, she’d almost be tempted to slide beneath it and push up that fall of golden silk and…

“Oof,” Josephine said, then gave a soft, drunken laugh. Her cheeks were round and flushed, and at this angle, her doubled chin was all the deeper. She had never looked lovelier. “Well, if the court didn’t know I was a pig before, they certainly do now.”

“They are filled with jealousy looking at you, _my_ dathrasi,” Herah countered easily.

Josephine smiled, turning her hand over in Herah’s to twine their fingers together. “Perhaps,” she was forced to agree. “But if that is true, then it is because you are at my side. So,” she added with a quirk of a black brow. _Teasing_ now, the minx. “How much fatter do you think I’ll be after tonight?”

Both of Herah’s brows rose. She was tempted to look around, to see if anyone could overhear…but no, of course, Josephine had already thought of that. And besides, anyone who could have heard was far, far too intoxicated by now. “It depends,” she said, dropping her voice into a lower register. “How fat would you like to be?”

Josephine looked out across the glittering court, focused on its own debauchery. She looked down to where her unbound belly—stuffed nearly beyond capacity—soared out from her body, resting snug in the valley of her fat thighs. She studied the way their clasped hands rested on the top crest of her, then gave a slight shake of her head. “Oh, I don’t know,” Josephine said slowly. “I suppose I could always do with a little more.”


	6. Chapter 6

“Did you get a load of Josephine Montilyet?” the low voice whispered.

Her friend tittered. “ _Load_ is quite the fitting word, don’t you think? She looked like some sort of giant, round nug rolling in on the Inquisitor’s arm. I swear I heard the seams of her dress scream in protest.”

“Tsk, that is unfair.” A laugh shivered beneath the woman’s words. “I have traveled half this world, and I have _never_ seen a nug get so impossibly fat.”

The two women laughed together, just low enough that no one on the promenade below could hear them.

Hidden by a cross-hatched screen, lost in shadow, Herah raised a single brow. _She_ could hear them—and see them—well enough, and she amused herself by marking their appearances carefully. She’d sketch out the details and pass them to Leliana later. It would be an easy enough task to use the Game to ruin the harpies.

Of course, Herah was forced to admit, none of this would be a problem if they were just allowed to go _home._ They had been all but trapped in Orlais for far too long, days passing into weeks, weeks into months as diplomacy held them captive. There was nothing Herah hated more than watching her tongue, and she’d been forced to bite it near-raw in an attempt to keep from starting an international incident these past few months. The _only_ pleasure she had in her life now was letting Sera run wild through the court, making horrid noble lives miserable wherever she went…and the truly _lavish_ dinners Celene insisted on throwing.

There was a gathering near every night, the wine flowing and course after course arriving on golden dishes. Each delicacy was more tempting than the last, and the inevitable side effects had been playing havoc with her entire retinue. Leliana’s hips were more rounded than Herah had ever seen them; Cassandra had taken to making sour faces every time she squeezed into her subtly tightening armor; even _Herah_ had been impacted, flat stomach very subtly pooching out when she allowed herself to relax back.

But of course, the most dramatic change could be seen on her ever-growing lover, who took to the rich Orlesian food and drink like a pot-bellied fish to water.

Or perhaps, Herah mused, claws lightly raking over her own tiny pot, like a dathrasi to slop. Josephine practically _wallowed_ in the expanded freedom she now experienced at Halamshiral…and it _showed_.

“Oh, look!” one of the women hissed, grabbing the arm of the other. “ _There she is_. Maker, but look at the way her hips roll as she walks,” she added. “She’s practically waddling down there.”

Herah leaned forward, craning her neck to catch a glimpse of the woman in question. There, making her slow way down the promenade—dressed in flowing white, which set off beautifully against her hair and skin and clung to ever rippling roll of her—was Josephine.

She looked positively radiant. Fat enough that now there was no doubt she was easily double the size she used to be— _more_ —the forward swell of her belly stretching against rich cloth. She’d exploded out since the night of that first party, gorgeously soft tummy taking the most of the rapid gain. Those wobbling tits and massive ass still expanded at a nice clip, of course, but so many glasses of wine followed by such rich excess…which Herah of course encouraged with whispered sweet words and a subtle rub of Josephine’s stuffed gut…were shaping her into the softly bloated form she was now.

What had once been a proud but relatively on-scale stomach had now all but ballooned. Even from this distance, Herah could see the heavy bottom swell of her gut bouncing against fat thighs. The top swell folded over it, thick enough to grab in both hands and squeeze and still have plenty left over.

That was the best part of Josephine’s changing body, Herah decided. She was just so wonderfully _pliable_ , that juicy apron of belly puffing out into her lap, the deep gash of her belly button all but demanding a clawtip to circle it teasingly. When she lay sprawled back, her big tits lay against the outer swells of her belly, and her thick arms dimpled and creased.

Naked, she was a goddess of flesh, seeming to grow by the day. Dressed as she was now, she was _obscene_ , drawing the seam of her fine dress so taut the material was nearly see-through. Her breasts were clearly unbound, her hair left hanging prettily down her back, held away from her face with golden clips. All of her jiggled and swayed with her slow…yes, _waddle_.

Her girl was truly beginning to waddle now.

…Herah wondered how much more she’d need to gain before that subtle waddle became an obvious rolling sway.

“How can she stand to be so…so… _fat_?” one of the women said, clucking her tongue as if in admonition.

Her friend laughed. “I think the real question is,” she said, “how can the Inquisitor stand to be seen by her side?  She may be a Qunari savage, but at least she’s built like a warrior. Just imagine that muscled beast of a woman in bed with that soft, round… _ball_.”

Imagine it indeed. Herah grinned to herself, even as she stood. Josephine was reaching the end of the promenade and would be heading into the east wing. If Herah hurried, she could certainly catch up with her lady love. And perhaps, if she was very lucky, she could coax the other woman away from her duties and back to their bedroom, where she’d strip that white dress from quivery flesh one inch at a time, sucking hot kisses against folds of skin.

Her own stomach fluttered in pleasure at the thought.

“Oh, please don’t put that image in my mind!” The Orlesian’s titter was obnoxiously shrill. “I won’t be able to stop thinking of it. Just imagine lying next to that creature.”

“ _Which_ creature?” the other laughed. “The one with the horns or the one with the bottomless pit for a stomach?”

“Yes,” Herah interrupted, stepping out from behind the screen with a slow, wicked smile. “ _Which_ creature, pray tell?”

Both women froze with wide eyes and twin expressions of horror. They were unmasked, comfortable enough to let go in the (presumed) privacy of their little copse. Herah took great pleasure in memorizing their features. Perhaps she wouldn’t tell Leliana about them after all. No. No, she would tell _Sera._ If these harpies were so curious what it would be like to blow up with mounds and mounds of soft, pillowy fat weighing them down, surely Sera and her Jennies could make sure the right potions made it into the right meals to see it done.

It was almost a shame their visit in Orlais would likely be brief enough Herah wouldn’t be able to witness the court’s two newest nugs rolling about the halls snuffling at whatever meal they could find. It would be so deliciously wrong to witness that sort of revenge.

“No answer?” she asked sweetly, flashing a bit of fang. The women tensed, leaning back as if they expected her to attack at any moment. “Pity. Well, _this_ beast is going to follow her love. Perhaps your overtaxed imaginations will be able to picture us curled up together then: my horns, her belly. What a sight we make.”

One of the women opened her mouth as if to beg apology, but Herah held up an imperious hand. “Speak and I will rip out your tongue,” she promised. The woman’s mouth snapped closed. “Now,” Herah added with a little bow, “I will leave you to your gossip. Remember next time to check every corner before you spew your poison, and…oh, but I look forward to seeing so much more of you.”

She flashed one final, toothy grin before launching herself effortlessly over the edge of the balcony. Herah dropped lightly onto the lower promenade, catching herself and straightening. She didn’t look back as she strode toward the door Josephine had taken, aware of well-dressed men and women pulling back to bow or curtsey as she passed.

The two harpies were already momentarily forgotten as Herah hurried her steps, slipping through the door and heading down the hall. She spotted Josephine ahead, moving into the library. Her lover’s hips were wide enough that they threatened to brush the narrow doorway as she passed; Herah wanted to recline her back against her own body and feed her sweet things until she became _stuck_ in that passageway. How beautiful would that be to witness? Josephine swearing softly and struggling to squeeze past, her entire body wobbling, her flaring hips depressed where they were held tight by cold stone. Helpless and flushing and laughing a little as Herah reached around her and grabbed giving folds of that lush body.

She grinned to herself again, hurrying her pace until she was all but running. The library was all but empty, Josephine reaching up to snag a book. The outer swell of her (truly beautifully massive) belly brushed the edge of the bookcase, no matter that she was standing well back. The dress stretched taunt over the round globes of her ass and followed the folds at her sides. Herah stepped in, wrapping her arms around her girl and cupping the heavy weight of her gut in her hands.

Josephine jolted, then laughed. She melted back against Herah, tilting her round-cheeked face back for a kiss. “I did not hear you enter,” she said. “Did you have a good afternoon?”

“Pleasant enough,” Herah said, peppering her fat cheeks, her jawline, her neck with kisses. She squeezed handfuls of pillowy fat and loved the way Josephine’s breath caught. She loved the way she all but moaned, knowing exactly what Herah wanted and eager to give it to her. Now that she had given herself completely over to her inner hedonist, Josephine was nothing if not willing the explore her most depraved desires one fleshy inch at a time. “But it is already getting better.” He leaned in to whisper into the shell of her girl’s ear: “I can smell you getting hot for me from here.”

“Oh you,” Josephine demurred, even as she rolled her wide ass back against Herah’s front, deliberately provocative. “You’re always so very handsy. Won’t you ever get enough?”

That had Herah laughing. She was just as hungry for Josephine and her ever-growing lover was for the sweetest things in life. “Don’t you know the answer to that by now, my little dathrasi?” she purred, biting at the soft give of Josephine’s shoulder, squeezed the outer swell of her belly with loving hands. “When it comes to you, there can _always_ be a little more.”


	7. Chapter 7

Herah had thought her lady-love was beautiful before, but that was nothing compared to the way she looked now as they finally took their leave of the Orlesian court.

Months of diplomacy had sharpened Josephine’s mind and tongue as she gave herself happily over to the intrigues of court. Months of hedonism and shocking excess practiced in Halamshiral—feasts followed by feasts followed by yet more feasts, as if the Orlesians were set to drown themselves in luxury—had done nothing but _soften_ her.

Where once Josephine was fat, now she was truly obese. Massive on a scale not even Herah had anticipated in her wildest dreams (and oh, but her dreams had always been quite wild.) She was easily three times the woman she had been on their first fateful meeting, each beautifully dimpled thigh now as wide— _wider_ —than her waist had once been.

It sent an illicit thrill through Herah, watching her now and cataloguing those changes. The huge, round mass of her truly impressive behind. The sheer width of her hips, which always seemed to get caught in all but the biggest doors. The lovely folds and spills of flesh spreading from the crisp white silk of her sleeves, and even the heavy rolls along her back.

The front was even _more_ impressive, but Herah was content to stand back and let Josephine give Celene a formal farewell, loving the way the thin silks pooled over every delicious dimple.

Beside her, Sera began to snicker.

Herah tipped her head without taking her eyes off her girl. “Something amusing?” she asked, sotto.

“Those little nugs, ey?” Sera said, rocking back on her heels. “Snuffling around the outskirts and grunting. Only not so little anymore.” She turned a beaming grin on Herah, the ragged edges of her fringe shifting with the movement. “Told’ya that potion’d do the trick.”

Amused, Herah let her attention be diverted, scanning the gathered court as they listened to the formal farewells. It took some searching to find the two harpies they’d played their trick on all those weeks upon weeks ago—Herah hadn’t been lying when she once boasted that as the Herald, _she_ now set the standard of beauty. So many of the women in attendance now wore gold-tipped fingers and flowing silks, apeing both Herah and Josephine. The elaborate coifs had relaxed into tumbling curls, and there wasn’t a corset in sight.

In fact, waspish waists were well out and a new softness had taken over the Orlesian capitol. It did Herah’s heart good to see so many beautiful flowers in full bloom. Even though she had no intention of straying from her Josephine, there was no denying the…ah…ripening beauty of Orlais. It exhibited itself in deepening bosoms and softening bellies. Hips that swung and swayed as the belled skirts grew narrower and cloth clung lovingly to every growing inch.

 _You’re welcome, men of Halamshiral_ , Herah thought with an inner laugh—then snorted when she finally spotted the two gossips, far in the back. The Jennys had done their work perhaps a little too well, slipping potions in every food or drink the two imbibed until the women who had once looked at Josephine with disdain were now truly… _massive_. Nearly as big as Josephine herself, and the fact that they had expanded to such a degree in such a short amount of time had Herah’s brows arching in interest.

They had to each be nearly 400 pounds, if not more, stuffed like sausages into the straining confines of their dresses. Heavy triple chins were visible wagging beneath their porcelain masks, and they each swayed under the strain of standing still, their muscles not given the chance to adjust to their rapidly skyrocketing weights.

It looked as if a stiff breeze would send them toppling down and rolling out of the hall, and Herah snorted to herself even as Sera snickered, clearly pleased as punch.

“I have to hand it to the Jennys,” Herah said, voice pitched low. “You do your work well.”

“S’hardly work to stick it to ‘em,” Sera assured her. “And now they’ve got plenty to stick! I kept a little for myself, though,” she added, winking and patting the small leather pouch at her bony hip. Somehow, even though the entire Inquisition’s retinue had suffered a gain of varying proportions thanks to _all those damn feasts_ —even Herah’s hated red velvet doublet tugged frustratingly tight against the little gut she was determined to excise at the first chance she got—Sera had somehow remained thin as one of her arrows.

Herah studied her friend as the hall erupted into polite applause, Josephine finally pulling away from Celene. Thank the Maker, maybe that meant it was almost time to go. “Intended for yourself,” she asked under the roar of court approval, honestly curious, “or further mischief?”

Sera gave a delighted giggle-snort. “Imagine me with a belly!” she crowed, puffing out her cheeks and pretended to pooch out her nonexistent stomach. Standing to her left, visibly uncomfortable in her far-too-tight armor—her ass almost juicy enough now even Herah was tempted to take a bite—Cassandra began to growl.

“That wasn’t an answer,” Herah pointed out, but Sera just winked and Josephine was making her ponderous way back to them anyway, so Herah mentally shrugged it off for the time being. She’d get her answer if Sera suddenly started stuffing her face with those oft-maligned cookies. “Are we finally free?” she added in a low undertone, moving quickly to her girl’s side. Josephine was more than visibly waddling now—each step she took was a heavy shift and sway of silk-covered flesh, like waves crashing onto the shore.

She was, in a word, breathtaking. Her fat thighs rubbed hard against each other, making walking more than a few dozen yards at a time frustrating. That wasn’t made any easier by the heavy sway of her lower belly, spilling down to slap against her legs, sometimes trying to force them apart. Pendulous, unbound breasts rolled and swayed, flashes of impressively deep cleavage teasing Herah every few seconds as all of Josephine—and there was a _lot_ of Josephine now—quivered with each step.

Josephine reached out as Herah neared her, taking her arm as Herah helped her up the steps. Celene had turned back to the court and the rest of the adorably pudgy Inquisition was filing out around them. “We are ready to go home,” Josephine said—panted, really, as her breath began to catch. Stairs were starting to truly become the enemy.

“I am _more_ than ready,” Herah countered, squeezing her girl’s soft arm. She grinned down at her, tipping their heads close together. “I cannot wait to get you back in my bed to see if we both still fit.”

Josephine swatted at her. “You’re assuming I can still climb my way up to your room,” she pointed out—breathing beginning to even out a little as they reached the top of the steps and moved through the huge double doors. Only one more expanse of hall, another set of gilt doors, and they were outside to freedom and a waiting caravan. “That is not a given anymore, I fear. You have let me become far too fat for that.”

She patted the quivering roll of her belly in illustration; Herah’s mouth all but watered.

“You are _perfectly_ fat, Josie,” she countered. “Something I’m willing to prove to you on our journey back to Skyhold.”

Josephine sighed. “Where I will be forced to ride reclined in a carriage,” she said, “too big for any horse.”

Herah blinked innocently at her lover as they stepped out into the Orlesian sunlight. “Why Josie,” she said in faux-confusion. “Why would you want to ride a horse when you can always ride _me_?”

She laughed, loud and long, at her lover’s red-cheeked giggle—loving the loose, easy way Josephine had about her now. Loving that sweet little second and third chin as they deepened around her face. Loving every last inch of her, and more than happy to spend the next however many days curled up inside a lavish carriage and showing her over and over again exactly how she felt.

They were free. They were going home.

Nothing in the world felt better than this.


	8. Chapter 8

Well, perhaps one thing felt better.

Herah stretched indolently against the soft bulk of her lover’s blubbery side, loving the way those folds pressed so sweetly up against her. Josephine’s carriage had begun its life as a farmer’s cart, though it was now bedecked to fit a queen. Its wide bed now truly _was_ all bed, the soft mattress pillowing her lover’s bulk. Satin and silk pillows lining the high walls (with its domed ceiling) let Josephine sit up in a casual recline, a portable writing desk just off to the side whenever she was in the mood to work.

Now, however, she was flushed and naked and panting, each heave of breath causing her mammoth belly to rise over them both like some distant mountain. Sweat dotted her brow and glistened along her skin, and the swaying carriage smelled of her recent release.

“Ooooh,” Josephine groaned, reaching up to swipe a loose strand of hair from her eyes. She gave a breathless laugh. “You never do lose your touch, do you?”

“Not so long as I have _you_ to touch,” Herah countered with a grin. She turned on her side, pressing deep against the warm give Josephine’s body, and reached up to grab a playful handful of Josephine’s belly. It was soft and giving to the touch, molding in her hand like dough. Oh, the beautiful shapes she could make with it. “And the more there is, the more I _want_ to get my hands on you.”

Josephine gave a little hum. She rose up—slowly, with great effort—onto an elbow, looking down at Herah with a thoughtful expression. “Will you still feel that way when I am so fat I cannot leave my bed?” she asked, sounding more curious than dismayed at the possibility. Truthfully, they had both seen it coming in the not too terribly distant future. Leliana (now an adorably plump pear thanks to _her_ time spent at court) had taken Herah aside one night to begin planning alterations to Josephine’s room, her workstation…everything that shaped her life.

The Inquisitor’s rooms would be moved to the lower floor, connected via a wide doorway to Josephine’s study. She could work from their new bed as needed when the time came, and when she had to greet guests, an impressive moving throne would be constructed. There need be no change in her routine—and it touched Herah deeply how much their friends cared about that.

But that was still some time away, surely. “I will always feel that way,” Herah assured Josephine, leaning in for a soft kiss. “I will always find you unbearably beautiful.”

“If that is so… What if I said I could fill one of your fantasies right now?” Josephine gestured to a small silk pouch hanging from one of the colorful walls of their moving bedroom. “Hand that to me, if you please.”

Confused—but deeply intrigued—Herah reached behind her for the pouch. She could hear the soft clod of horses hooves as the rest of the Inquisition rode around them (Cassandra and Cullen had been most adamant about being on horseback, both swearing they had to _work off this blasted gut_ before they reached Skyhold), but otherwise, the rest of the world seemed very far away.

There was something small and cylindrical inside the pouch, and Herah watched as Josephine tipped a tiny vial out into her palm. Inside was small amount of bright green liquid.

“What is this?” Herah asked, confused.

There was still a flush on Josephine’s cheeks, but she met Herah’s gaze steadily as she said, “It is a potion I think you are quite familiar with. Sera was willing to part with just a little of it.”

Herah felt her jaw drop. She stared down at the potion, then back up at Josephine, scrambling to put her thoughts in order. “Wait,” she said, moving up to her knees. The folds of her lover’s belly flowed around her as she moved, pressing into muscular thighs. “Are you telling me that is the weight gain potion the Jennys gave those horrible women?”

“Undistilled,” Josephine said, rolling it in her palm. “And, I believe, very potent.”

“…and you…you are willing to…” She could barely completely the thought, her mouth gone desert-dry, her thoughts in chaos. She’d always had a rather wicked dream of watching her lovely girl fatten up in fast forward, every dip and swell of her expanding out like rising dough, but of course it wasn’t _possible_.

Only now, it was.

“If you are certain you will still love me when I can no longer walk under my own weight,” Josephine said serenely, “then yes, I am willing to drink this. It is only a little, but a little undistilled should be enough to… Well.” She wet her lower lip. “Do the deed, as such. If you wish it.”

“Yes, _Maker_ , I wish it,” Herah breathed. She leaned in, kissing Josephine hard—tongue stroking deep into her mouth as the fires of her spent arousal flared back to life at even the _idea_. “You wonderful woman,” she murmured, biting at Josephine’s mouth, her soft jawline, her adorable chins. “Yes, I want you to drink that and grow so very fat for me. I want to watch as you swell so big all you see is your own belly, your thick thighs pushed apart to make room, your _breasts_ …”

She cupped one, lifting the heavy weight and turning her face to suck on the wide nipple—groaning when Josephine gave a sharp breath and flipped the stopper out of the vial.

“There is no going back,” Josephine warned, voice husky, eyes dark. Her nipple tightened beneath Herah’s lips, beading up nicely. “Once I drink this, I truly will be your fat dathrasi lover.”

“Mm,” Herah said, pulling back slowly, letting Josephine’s tight nipple pop from her mouth. She wiped the train of saliva away, clawtip tracing around the brown areola, teasing the silvery spit into skin. “You always were my fat dathrasi lover,” she said with a wicked grin. “Now there will just be a little _more._ ”

“More than a little, I think,” Josephine said, voice catching. And then, eyes locked with Herah’s, she brought the vial to her lips and drank.


End file.
